


a nice holiday

by ntkrrs



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Young Royai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28316739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ntkrrs/pseuds/ntkrrs
Summary: “Nothing!” he defended, raising both his hands. “I’m just… excited for Christmas.”Her face was the picture of skepticism. “Sure.”“Speaking of,” he said a littletooinnocently, “Is it Christmas yet?”my gift to the royai support group! happy holidays 🎁
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	a nice holiday

**Author's Note:**

> written originally for everyone at the royai support group, but really, if you love royai as much as i do, it doesn't matter.
> 
> merry christmas from my royai trash heart to yours! have a great holiday 🎄🎁

“Psst!”

Riza jumped at the sudden sound, jerking her head to look for the source. She set her book down and looked over the back of the settee she lounged on, figuring there was only one person in the house ridiculous enough to call her attention in such a way.

“ _Psst!_ ”

Pinpointing where it was coming from—the door of the sitting room that led to the kitchen, instead of the hallway, she determined—she walked closer. Finding her father’s dark-haired protégé, she folded her arms over her chest, and raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Mustang, what are you doing?”

“Hi,” he whispered brightly, eyes shining in the dim overhead lamp of the sitting room. “Are you busy?”

“Just reading,” she said, walking back to the settee.

“What were you reading?” he asked, walking in after her.

She sat on the couch and looked up at him. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing!” he defended, raising both his hands. “I’m just… excited for Christmas.”

Her face was the picture of skepticism. “Sure.”

“Speaking of,” he said a little _too_ innocently, “Is it Christmas yet?”

She stared at him. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing!” He adopted an offended expression. “Really, Ms. Riza. You’re starting to hurt my feelings here. Don’t you trust me?”

She decided not to answer and darted her eyes to the clock they had on the wall. “It’s about two minutes until.”

“Perfect. Come, I’ll show you something,” he urged her, excitedly grasping her wrist and tugging her unto her feet. “It’s out back, though, if it’s okay.”

She glanced down at her night gown. She looked back up at him. “This can’t wait until tomorrow, can it?”

He beamed at her. “Nope!”

The blonde sighed. “I’ll go put on my shoes.”

He scurried after her as she moved to the foyer to get her footwear, and hovered over her as she put them on. 

“Is something the matter?” she asked, turning to him, and discovered that he looked rather apprehensive, instead of excited like he was earlier.

“Your father won’t get mad, will he?”

Ah. “If it’s just the backyard, it’s fine,” Riza reassured. “Now, take me to your surprise.”

He grasped her wrist and brought her to the kitchen exit, silent all the way. It was like his excitement waned, making room for trepidation. Still, he trudged through, keeping his hands on her wrist. As soon as they made it outside, the pleasant chill of the season enveloped Riza, cool enough to be enjoyed in just her night gown and shoes. The sky was nice and clear, moonless—stars shone in its vastness, and she looked up at them. 

He led her to the single tree on the grounds that had a decent amount of greenery. Which reminded her, she needed to uproot the dead ones. They were taking up space; maybe she could till the soil to make it more fertile? They had some books on that, for sure; Father said Mother had a knack for gardening—

Her train of thought cut off when Mr. Mustang dropped her wrist and turned to her abruptly, his face expectant. She flushed with embarrassment; she hadn’t realized he was speaking. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear,” she apologized. “Could you, um, could you repeat that?”

His hands seemed a little fidgety. “I, um,” he stammered, then swallowed. “Uh, well, in Central—when I still lived there, I mean, before I came here, we would have traditions. For the holidays.”

When he didn’t continue, she asked politely. “Do you miss them?”

“No, I—I mean, yes, but, well—” Mr. Mustang wrung his hands together. “Do you—last month, when we missed the lights festival, do you—do you remember?”

The blonde smiled at him, a little sadly. She’d been sick as a dog that day, profusely apologizing for not being able to take him to the festival she’d been talking up for _months_ in between sniffles and sneezes. “Yes, I remember. I’m really sorry about that.”

“What? No! I mean, no, it’s okay. It’s um. That’s not why I brought you out here.” He took a deep breath. “In Central, for the holidays, we—um, have you ever seen a holiday tree?”

Riza blinked. “A… holiday tree?”

“It’s—It’s—Well, I think I’ll just show you.” He stiffly walked over next to the tree, kneeled, and put his hands on the ground.

The familiar glow of a transmutation lit up the backyard.

Slowly, lights glowed around the tree, one by one, lighting it up in a myriad of colors. The bulbs emanated soft lights, a little unevenly across their surfaces, but the colors were apparent. The tree itself was small, maybe a little taller than Mr. Mustang, but it was _beautiful_. Her jaw dropped as she marveled at it.

He jogged back to her side. “It’s, um, it’s a little more makeshift than the, uh, than the trees in Central,” he explained, rubbing his nose. “And the lights are bigger—I had to, um, I used the spares you had and repaired them, and I bought enamels to color the bulbs. I wish I could show you a real holiday tree, though. I don’t know how the lights festival looks, but I thought this would be—would be close, but I don’t know. Is it?”

“This is,” Riza breathed, her eyes heating up, tears unbidden. “This is…”

“It’s not much,” Mr. Mustang said, a little shyly. “But I hope you— _oh, Ms. Riza, don’t cry_ —”

His sudden panic made her jolt, and she brought her hands to her face to wipe away her tears. She laughed wetly. “I’m sorry, I’m—This is—”

He fished out his handkerchief and handed it to her, face regretful. “I’m sorry, I’ll take it down, I—”

“No!” she cried thickly, sniffling. “No, it’s—it’s _beautiful_ , Mr. Mustang. Thank you, really.” She sobbed out a laugh, hands shaking as she reached for the proffered handkerchief. “I’m sorry, this is just—this is the nicest thing anyone’s _ever_ done for—” 

Her vision warped as her tears came, and she felt the soft cloth run along her cheeks, wiping away her tears. 

“I’m glad you like it,” he murmured. He took her hand and led her forward, a good distance away from the tree, and unfurled his handkerchief and lay it on the grass. He patted it as he sat down, and she followed suit. They sat in silence as she observed it in wonder. 

“Thank you for going through the trouble,” she whispered, drawing her knees to her chest and turning her face to him.

“It wasn’t any trouble at all, Ms. Riza,” he responded, looking at her with such softness that it made her smile.

She sighed, heart still feeling full, and leaned her head on his shoulder. She tried not to giggle at his sudden stiffness. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Mustang,” she said.

Her belly twisted when she felt his head turn, breath brushing against her hair, a ghost of a kiss against her scalp. “Merry Christmas, Ms. Riza.”

They watched the tree, and the stars that twinkled in the night sky, for some time.


End file.
